


Beautiful

by DekuDesu



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, South Park
Genre: 17+ in This Story, Acting, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Heathers, Alternate Universe - High School, Drama, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Partying Kids, References of Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Suicide, Swearing, Theatre Life, Underage Drinking, bed breaking, plays, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DekuDesu/pseuds/DekuDesu
Summary: Dear Diary,Senior year is upon us! Which means that it's time to see who makes it and who breaks it. Unfortunately for me, getting THROUGH senior year might not be the e-easiest thing out there. You see...I live in what's called...a "podunk town"; everybody is close-minded, regardless of any advancements we have made, and it's hard to be a gay seventeen year old. Especially in high school. Especially in South Park. I wish we could just go back to the old days...of playing superheroes and fighting over a stupid magical stick, or playing video games all days while doing dumb shit. Well, here we go! I'm sure that these people I've known my whole life won't be too harsh on me...right?P.S.Looking back on this journal entry now, I had no idea what kind of trouble I'd be getting into.





	1. Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm super excited to jump back into the writing seat and I've finally found my juice. I love Heathers: the movie and the musical, and I love South Park. My friend and I were discussing it and we didn't realize HOW WELL Heathers fit into the South Park universe. So with some minor changes here and there, and some alterations to canon, I hope you guys enjoy my prolonged Heathers/South Park crossover.

**September 1st, 2017**

  
Dear Diary,

This is it. This is the first day of the rest of my life. It's a scary thought, don't you think? All your life, you are trained to be a certain way. To live and act a certain way. And now, one year can change that forever. Whether it be with new friends, old family, or just unique experiences, things are bound to change. I believe that I'm a good person...I mean, I have no reason  _not_ to, right? I think there's good in  _everyone_ , but here we are...once again, thrown into the bowels and putrid quarrels of South Park High School. There used to be a time where all of us got along: playing superheroes, searching for a magical stick, or even pretending to be ninjas to protect the slums from homeless crack addicts. My childhood was a disaster zone of magic and wonder...but now? I don't even know what to call it. It's not normal...or at least, I don't think it is. Here's to hoping the first day goes well; I want to remember my senior year for all its glory. I just hope that the rest of the student body can understand this is our last time together as kids. We shall see I guess.

_Tweek_

 

I closed my journal, which was bound in worn down leather and a weak strand of elastic. It was my only piece of sanity I had left in this world. All my friends had diverged to different cliques and parts of the school; it was social hierarchy. I took a sip of the coffee I had in my thermos, which was a beautiful source of heat in this bitter winter. Winter always came early in South Park; a day without snow was like blasphemy. I don't think I remember a day without snow or cold winds. I shook a little bit from the sudden sensations, and twitched a tiny bit. My persistent ticks and fidgeting had settled down over the years, and coffee wasn't  _really_ helping. When I was younger, I used to spaz and shake and freak out all the time. But once puberty hit me and I started focusing my energy into other activities, my mind calmed down and not everything freaked me out.

I waited outside of the school, looking up at its looming stature. They had done some remodeling over the past few years, to really make South Park a "PC" place to live. Or go to school. Or raise a family. But it was far from that. From alien sightings to snot-nosed kids and close-minded views, South Park was quite the opposite of PC. There was a time when the town really tried to get their children in the mindset, putting a meat-headed, fresh-out-of-college wannabe principal in charge of the elementary school, but that didn't end so well either. In fact, he ended up fleeing the city due to how un-PC it was. It was quite ironic. Not accepting of the ignorant. I chuckled to myself at the little memory and took careful steps up the stairs leading into the social jungle.

Already, I could tell that this was going to be an interesting year. I could see the cliques forming, or reuniting in some cases, as I walked slowly down the hallway. I still had my olive green, heavy snow coat on with a raggedy old scarf my grandmother had made me many Christmases ago. It was one memory I latched onto of her. In fact, I think that might've been the last time I had seen her before she passed on. Life moves on, I guess. I wasn't known to have a TON of money, but whatever I made from working at my parents' coffee shop, I used to purchase new clothes for myself or save up to drive or at least ride (I still rode my bike to school) around town. The rest I would save up to maybe get out of this place once and for all. Graduation was only 8 months away. I could survive, right?

And then I found myself on the floor. My thermos slid out of my hands and skidded across the linoleum into the sea of students walking around. I groaned, pushing myself up as I looked at my assailant, "AGH! What the fu--oh," the kid I was shouting at looked terrified of me. He had to be a freshman. I sighed, "Sorry..." I got up as he ran off. I put a hand through my blonde, scraggly hair that I rarely brushed; I decided a long while back that I was gonna focus on my appearance when I was out of school. Kids were too judgmental; at least in the real world, it'd be somewhat socially acceptable to wear what I wanted and look how I wanted. I then panicked. My thermos. Where did it go?

I could feel my eyes growing a bit larger as I looked around. My heart rate started to go up.  _Calm down. Calm down, Tweek. It's fine. I'm sure it's around here somewhere._

I looked but could not find it. What the fuck.

"HEY, Tweaker!"

I groaned inwardly as I turned around. A shove and a hand to the face later, and I found myself disoriented. The double shove threw me off guard and knocked me into a set of girls who, in utter disgust, retreated. Whispering the words "pervert" and "don't touch me". Perfect. Just what I needed. More people to hate me. I opened my eyes weakly and gritted my teeth. There he was: Kenny McCormick. Used to be such a great guy. That was an overstatement, actually. Kenny, when we were younger, was always a prick. A perverted, manwhore. He slept with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, even at the age of 10 or 13. At that time, I wasn't concerned with who I could put my dick in, but the fact that I  _had_ one. It was a weird time. Being a kid is strange, but Kenny made it seem like being a kid was so last century. Now, he had ditched his normal group of friends from back in the day, and took to some sort of physical activity. After they had lost their mother to cancer, Kenny had to be the sole one taking care of his siblings. So, in order to please his father on top of that, he took up football. He was the linebacker, and basically was one of the most desirable guys at the school.

Though, his tragic backstory doesn't make up for the fact that he was still a major  **dick**.

"What did you say to me,  _freak_ _?_ "

Had I said that out loud?

I freaked out, my cheeks dusted with pink and red, "Ahhhhh! NOTHING!" I ran off, still looking for my thermos. I needed to get out of there before Kenny decided it would be the best time to fight me in public. Though, if not now, it'd probably be later. Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to be scrappy like I used to. All that energy I had was gone. There was really nothing to fight for. Let alone fight for myself.

"Come on...where...w-where is it?" I mumbled to myself, still searching and scanning the floor for my thermos. Maybe someone picked it up?

My eyes being on the ground didn't help me in looking forward at all, as I ran into someone full force.

 

"AGH! Oh, hey Kyle." 

 

There, in front of me, was my only friend in this jungle: Kyle Broflovski. Of course, back in the day, I wanted nothing to do with him. He had always been with Kenny and his crew, getting into trouble, causing mischief. All the good stuff. But over the years, Kyle got tired of all the abuse he received from his "friends". The boy was of the Jewish community, yes, as that played into a lot of his torture, but he was always still proud of his religious background. It was absolutely admirable that he wouldn't change himself for the likes of others. So, we clicked once I had found him sobbing to himself in the boys' bathroom our freshman year. I guess crisis brings people closer together.

Kyle was wearing a dull orange heavy coat, with a green sweater underneath. Probably one of the ugliest combinations of colors ever. And on his head, covering  _most_ of his red, curly locks, was the same old green winter hat he had since they were children. I snickered, brushing myself off. Kyle spoke up, smiling lightly, "Hey! Looking for this?" And as if he had read my mind, Kyle held up my thermos. I grabbed it quickly, hugging it to my chest unknowingly and smiled, "Thanks dude." I took a sip from it out of pure instinct.

"I saw that you ran into Kenny again. You alright?" Kyle inquired.

I shrugged and sniffled; boy was it cold. "I'm sure he just wanted to pick a fight. But it's a new year, new me! Right?"

"Well, that new you is going to be beat up and thrown in the trash if you aren't careful." Kyle mused, walking with me down the hallway further.

I blinked a couple of times, and started unraveling my scarf, "I wonder why Kenny became such a bully. He's almost as bad as...well, you know."

"True," Kyle shrugged, "but, at least with Kenny he won't stop so low as to fully kill someone. Or make them eat their parents..."

I shuddered at the thought. "Can we just pretend that never happened?"

"Tell that to Scott Tenorman. I'm still surprised they never fully realized what happened with that. I'm pretty sure he's still in therapy to this day." I sighed.

 

The rest of the walk to get to the main foyer felt like an eternity, but at least I had a friend to talk with in the meantime. As we approached the clearing, I could finally see what I was going to be dealing with. It all went in slow motion: the jocks had their congregation over in the corner near the cafeteria doors. Tossing a football to each other, or possibly talking about upcoming parties and chicks they were going to sleep with. Most of them were either passing by the skin of their teeth, or failing in general. Luckily, knowing most of their parents, they wouldn't take that sitting down. Pretty soon they'd realize "oh shit, my life is about to begin, and here I am...nothing more than a high school drop out waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant." And then there were the pretty girls and cheerleaders. Most of them had slept with the former group, especially those like Wendy Testaburger or Bebe Stevens. But, fortunately, they weren't super bitchy. They seemed to keep to themselves, and party at their leisure. That was fine with me. If I had to deal with just one group, I'd rather that than deal with the majority of the popular student body.

Then, there were the Goths. Even since I was younger, they had always been dark, mysterious, and non-conforming to society. It was almost like they were stuck in a time lapse. The same drab black clothing, black nail polish, haircuts stolen straight from the Cure and cigarettes lit almost infinitely. I could never hang out with them. They were a tight knit group and barely got involved with anything other than their own Satanic rituals or chain smoking get togethers. A cynical look at things, maybe, but it was true unfortunately.

"Kyle Broflovski! Heads up!"

It threw both me and Kyle off guard, but it was too late for my friend. A ball hit him right in the face and he fell down, blood coming from his lip. "Fuck!" Kyle cursed, and I leaned down to help him up. I looked up quickly in the direction of the ball, and low and behold, it was none other than the worst offender of them all.

Clyde Donovan was another big issue in South Park High School. His tough and kinda dumb demeanor confused a lot of students, but when he was fired up, he was fired up. The brunette had brawn and some brains, mostly when it came to girls he'd try and sleep with, but he and Kenny were the two star football players. Clyde was quarterback; an almost perfect record to his high school career. When it came to me and Kyle, we were one of his favorite set of targets. I helped Kyle up and growled, hearing Clyde laughing with his group of misfits. I stormed forward, much to Kyle's protest.

 

"Hey, asshole." I shouted. The clearing seemed to slightly quiet down to a low mutter as I approached Clyde. Said student looked dumbfounded that I had the balls to approach him, let alone call him an asshole.

"Are you  _really_ talking to me right now?" Clyde threatened, his words seething with poison. I gulped and gritted my teeth, "Yeah, I am! What gives you the right to pick on my friend? You're a high school has been, Donovan. All you're ever gonna be is a past football star with no personality, no stable relationship, and you'll never leave this godforsaken town." I really let him have it. Yeah, but uh, I also seemed to take it as well.

~

"No one cares at this fucking school." I said to myself as I cleaned off my nose. Clyde punched hard, for sure. The embarrassment I felt was ridiculous; I shouldn't even feel that way. Not at all. But, then again, I was only seventeen. A senior at South Park High, with no social standing whatsoever. I winced, trying to get rid of the now drying blood from my face. I stared at myself in the mirror for a bit longer. I looked pathetic. Barely got any sleep, and mediocre looks. There was no way I was gonna get a girlfriend. There was no way I was gonna win "Best" anything at the end of this year's yearbook. I had nothing. And I meant nothing, I knew that. No matter what I did at this point in my life, I was still Tweek Tweak, the freak with the twitches and glitches, and a coffee shop to go back to every night. 

My thoughts were broken as I heard loud noises coming for the boys' bathroom. I didn't want to be a part of this. Whoever was coming in, was bound to see me in this condition. I quickly ducked into the bathroom stall behind me. I got on top of the toilet and pulled out my diary. At least I could write my thoughts about today without getting bothered. The bathroom door opened and what I heard drained me of life quickly. It was  _them_. The untouchables. The Holy Trinity. I looked through the bathroom stall door's small crack to see if I was right; there was no escaping their presence. Their voices. The pounding on the door. I gripped my book close to me as the door in front of me shook, and then the presence moved to the stall next to me. Slamming the door open, and throwing up directly into the toilet next to me. Yep. It was them alright.

They dubbed themselves the "Heathers", based off that really cheesy cult film of the same name. I never understood why they would take on such a feminine title, but I guess it was intimidating. Especially with the makeup of the group.

There was Butters Stotch: the only male cheerleader to actually be accepted for what he did. He had decent looks, but an innocent demeanor. His family was Mormon, strict and to the book. Maybe that's why he chose to hang out with such a demeaning group. Clad in a yellow hoodie and black shirt underneath, I could see Butters was just there to tag along. He was the safest one of the group.

Then there was the one--"BLARGH!"--vomiting in the stall next to mine. Why Stan Marsh had to cause himself to throw up was beyond me. Maybe it was insecurities, or maybe it was pressure of being a star...well everything. Whatever it was, Stan was the second in command, as far as I could see. His black hair, no longer covered up by a beanie, slightly shorter. His darker eyes, almost seeming black. And pale complexion. He seemed to be an enigma, to say the least. After he had broken up with Wendy Testaburger and broke it off with his best friend, Kyle Broflovski, it was almost as if Stan became an entirely different person. His hoodie was green and he also donned a t-shirt underneath, not really matching to say the least. If you ever wanted to get in good with the yearbook committee, you wanted to be Stan Marsh's best friend. End of story. Why he'd follow one of the most disgusting pieces of garbage in the world baffled me to no end.

Speaking of heaps of garbage...there  _he_ was. Eric fucking Cartman. He IS a mythic bitch. A flaming pile of dog shit. There was no one I hated more than Eric Cartman, but I had to admit one thing: he knew how to run things his way. He was manipulative, destructive, and absolutely bigotry incarnate. Not a moment went by where he threw a racial slur at someone, or swore just out of a fit of frustration. Plus, even though he had slimmed down...a  _little_ since we were little, it never failed to amaze me how much he made fun of bigger people. I mean, the guy was big himself. It was almost hypocritical thinking about it. With a red sweater, gold buttons to lock it in place (although it was obviously hard to keep all of it in place), and a new, smug and polished look to him, Eric Cartman was the King B of the school. 

Knowing Stan and Butters history with Cartman, I figured they followed only out of pure curiosity and most likely due to blackmailing. I bit my lip nervously. As much as I hated them...I wanted to be  _like them_. I wanted to be untouchable. To be able to create a world for myself where I could survive senior year without a hitch; find someone who found me attractive, go to parties without stressing out about ridicule, and to not be beaten up on a daily basis. Being with the... _Heathers_ was almost like a fast pass through high school; how Cartman, Stan, and Butters created that for themselves, I wasn't sure. And I don't think I'll ever be.

"Goddammit, Stan! You fucking get vomit on that sweater and I'm gonna fuck you like a pig, y'hear me!?"

Cartman's voice still grated at my ears.

"Ugh...whatever dude. I have to lose weight or else I'm gonna lose out on "Most Likely to be a Model" in the yearbook." Stan retorted, going to vomit again. How much had he rejected from his stomach?

I twitched out of nervousness. Not now. Now was NOT the time to start freaking out. I could feel my heart rate increasing, as I slowly clutched my backpack closer and closer. If they found me here, I'd be dead. Most likely swimming in the bowl of puke next to me. I held back a gag thinking about it.

"Y'know, Stan, you've already got good looks, so I'm sure you'd be a shoe-in for the Model category!" Butters encouraged. The slap echoed throughout the bathroom as Cartman huffed. Butters gripped his face and winced.

"Shut the fuck up, Butters. You know how it works: if he's gonna put himself through some stupid ritual like those blonde bitches out there, then maybe he deserves it. No positive reinforcement." Cartman hissed. Butters quieted down, "Sorry, Eric." He mumbled.

Once again, the door opened and the tension changed. Who had entered the fray? Who was going to get their asses kicked now?

 

"Ahem. Did you not hear the bell? I'm certain that you three are supposed to be in class now." Ah, of course. The fallen angel himself. After impeachment, Mr. Garrison had returned to South Park for another dead end job as a teacher. I guess you can't teach a dog new tricks. Garrison had ran for President a couple years back, and had won at that, only to find out it wasn't all it was cut out to be. It was the most embarrassing presidency to date. Though, I always appreciated Garrison's new outlook on life. He was a born again Christian...or Pagan...or Satanist...Agnostic? I wasn't sure what Garrison was, but he worshiped  _something_. He had a new, bright outlook on life and had even ditched any dreams of being anything else of importance. I relaxed a bit knowing that a teacher was involved now.

 

Cartman snorted, "Oh, c'mon, Mr. Garrison~ We were just helping our friend Stan here. He wasn't feeling too well." The baby voice he had put on bothered me. I got a disgusted feeling from my gut and I continued listening in. Mr. Garrison obviously wasn't buying it.

"Uh huh, right. And you think I was born yesterday, Cartman? You, Butters, and Mr. Marsh here can guarantee yourselves a week's detention for ditching class." Garrison demanded. I could feel the anger boiling up from Cartman.

I then realized something. This was my chance. I could...I could theoretically help them out. I opened my diary and looked at a page. I had plenty of Hall Passes written by teachers throughout high school; in fact, when I had anxiety attacks, I was always allowed to leave class to deal with it on my own. Ironically, in the bathroom. I wrote out, from memory, what our first period class passes looked like, and tore a page out. Before I reached for the door handle, I took in a breath. This was it. It was now or never. Was this a valiant effort or a wasted chance?

 

"Actually, Mr. Garrison," I spoke up, opening the door. I could tell that everyone in the vicinity was surprised to see me walk out of the stall, and I held up the forged hall pass, signature and all. "We are-are all out on a hall pass," I then looked over to Stan, who was glancing at me with a disbelieving look, "yearbook committee."

 

Mr. Garrison looked between all of us a couple times before snatching the note from me out of rage. He scanned it and it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. Garrison scoffed and growled, "Just hurry up and get to where you're going. I'll be watching all of you.  _All_ of you." He repeated himself, looking at me, right before storming off and out of the bathroom. There was an awkward silence, but on the inside, I was beaming. I could feel myself start to shake with excitement. It had worked. My forgery skills were getting better. Whether or not that'd be a good thing, eluded me. Suddenly, I felt myself being slammed against the wall. What?

"OOF!" I let out, getting the wind knocked out of me.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Tweaker? You think you can just come in here and act like tough shit!? We're the top dogs here, not you. No one asked you to help us." Cartman spit out, covering my face in saliva a couple of times.

I weakly groaned, "I-I just t-thought you might not-not want de-de-detention."

Cartman put me down and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes. "God, Butters? Can you please ask this idiot why he was spying on us in the first place?"

"Right!" Butters, who couldn't hurt a fly really, walked up to me and crossed his arms, "Well? Why were you spying on us, Tweek?"

"I wasn't spying...I was cleaning my nose--"

 

"In the toilet? That's kinda gross, dude." Stan spoke up, looking at me with disgust.

 

"NOT in the toilet," I seethed, "but that's not the point. I crave a boon."

 

"Do I look like I got a pussy, Tweeker?" Cartman stated, and Stan sighed, slapping his own face.

"Boon, not  _poon_ , fatass." Stan retorted. I held back a laugh.

 

Cartman didn't like that though, and he glared at Stan. "Don't you have some lasagna or something to puke up, you lard?"

 

Stan froze a bit, and rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to throw up out of pure instinct. Cartman rolled his eyes back and looked back at me. "Butters, ask this idiot what kind of... _boon_ he wants."

 

"Well, what kind of...uh, boon, do you want? Does anyone even know what that means?" Butters asked, reserving the last part for his cohorts. Everyone shrugged, and I sighed again. 

 

"Just...just let me hang out with you guys. At lunch even. No talking necessary or what not. If-if people think maybe you guys tolerate me, I won't be ignored or hated as much. Y'know how it is being a high schooler. I don't really belong in any clique..." I poured out my lamest excuse for a confession and all they could do was laugh at me. Cartman snapped his fingers almost instantly though, shutting up both Stan and Butters. When did they lose their spine?

 

"Interesting offer, Mr. Tweak," Cartman tapped his chin, as if in thought, as he paced in front of me. Butters and Stan stood post behind him, looking almost expectantly at Cartman to say something sooner or later. Finally, he spoke up, "I don't know. I'm not quite convinced that you have what it takes to be...a Heather."

 

They really  _did_ call themselves that. Half of me wondered if that was all Cartman's fantasy he had created, almost like when we had created Kupa Keep or Coon and Friends. His own real life power, no longer pretend. The ability to whip any student or person into shape and rule over his own kingdom. Half of me didn't care; I just wanted to be something. For once. I felt alone in a small town, and even though I never really told anyone that, not even Kyle...I still wanted to be  _something_. I spoke up.

"I can also do absence notes, forge signatures for permission slips--"

 

"Do you also write prescriptions? The pharmacy in town has this weight loss supplem--"

 

"SHUT UP, STAN. YOU FUCKING IDIOT."

 

The room went silent again, with a slight echo following Cartman's rage filled scream. Stan shut up quickly and grumbled to himself. Finally, Cartman looked at me. "You know what. This could work actually. Butters," he snapped as if he had his own personal butler, and Butters came to his side. "Go to my secret stash. Find that blue blazer we have. Stan, get your comb and brush out. Plus some hair gel. This freak looks disgusting. And we need to take care of those dark circles under your eyes...hmm, Butters, you're basically gay...do you have that nude foundation shit the other cheerleaders use?"

"Yes I do, Eric!!!" Butters replied happily, despite being insulted with a backhanded compliment. I blushed. What was happening? Was this about to be a  _makeover_ _?_ But why?! This was starting to make me panic. I started breathing a bit heavy, my chest starting to constrict; this was a lot of pressure. I had helped out the enemy. But in return, I received praise. Almost instantaneously. Whatever Cartman had planned for me wasn't going to be good at all. Butters exited the bathroom and left me with Stan and Cartman, staring at me expectantly.

 

"What...?" I let out, almost in a squeak. And Cartman gripped my face, roughly. I groaned a little bit as he squeezed my cheeks, looking at my face. Butters came back in and held up a blue blazer. Cartman examined me closely; I could smell his gross breath as he stepped back, snatching the jacket. "Take off your clothes, Tweek. If you're going to be a Heather, you need to look like one. At least you have good bone structure, and some hope in looking decent. Not everyone can pull off my good looks." Cartman fawned over himself, which earned me an inward groan. Luckily, he hadn't heard.

I reluctantly took off my shirt and hid my body slightly, embarrassed. I was being scrutinized by three boys who had no business scrutinizing, or making me feel incompetent. But  _they did_. Suddenly, I was assaulted by Stan, pulling a brush through my hair. I teared up, the rough pulling of my slightly tangled hair hurting more than it should have. But it was a process. After ten minutes or so, they had completely changed my look. I held onto my scarf and Cartman held out his hand. "Give it up."

 

"Eric, no. I can't do that...this-this was something my grandmother made me--" I protested but Cartman began to whine a little bit. "C'mon, Tweek! Don't you wanna be cool? I'm not going to do anything bad to it. I'm just gonna hold onto it, you can pick it up after school with the rest of your clothes. You can't just hold that around all day." I could tell he was lying, but something in me reluctantly let go of the garment and watched as Cartman put it into his backpack, with my shirt and my old pants. Stan had a separate pair, they were plaid and a weird grey color, but they fit on me. It seemed Stan and I had the same pant size. All three of them turned me around to face the mirror and I blinked in disbelief. That wasn't me...it couldn't be.

 

My hair sat a little naturally rather than all over the place, and seemed smoother and silkier. I assumed it was the dry shampoo Stan had on him so casually. The dark circles that were super obvious were not barely seen, thanks to Butters' makeup job and the blue blazer I had on fit so...well. It looked so  _natural_. It was almost as if I was always meant to be in blue. I did like the color, but I never really wore anything along those lines. The pants hugged my hips and showed off what little figure I had and I felt...beautiful...handsome...powerful. I had no words for it. "OW FUCK!"

I screamed out as I felt my ear sting out in pain. I grabbed it, feeling blood and I walked back. Cartman growled, "Fucking STUPID bitch! Butters, you're supposed to put cold water on it first to numb it before just PIERCING his ear." 

  
Oh, was that what that was?! I felt like I was being stabbed. I cursed, "W-what the fuck!?"

 

"I-I'm quite sorry, Tweek! I didn't mean to hurt you." Butters apologized. I sighed, "I-It's fine...just hurt is all. Did it work at all at least...wait, what the fuck? I ALREADY HAVE MY EARS PIERCED."

 

Cartman shrugged, "Oops. Well, it's okay. It'll heal." It was true, I had pierced my ears at least once before. I just chose not to let them...be seen as often. So I didn't wear them in public, unless I was at work. I sighed as Butters came over to get rid of the blood. After a couple minutes it stopped bleeding and I was fine again. Luckily, I didn't need to bandage it at all. No blood had gotten on me either, which was great. I looked in the mirror once again, and took in the full picture. My eyes shined greener than ever, and for once, I looked...happy. It was a weird feeling.

 

"Well, Tweaker? Whataya think? Think you can handle all of this power? All of this badassery?" Cartman cooed, uncomfortably gripping my shoulders, massaging them as he whispered in my ear. "Pretty soon, there'll be no turning back."

  
I thought briefly about everything I had to care about. There was only Kyle, but I knew that this would be helpful for both of us. Cartman and him, despite their history, were friends at one point. I was positive this was a boost in the right direction. I sighed confidently and smiled, "Yes. I'm ready. No turning back."

  
Little did I know...there really  _was no_ turning back.

 

 

 


	2. Candy Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of weeks have passed and Tweek has grown accustomed to his new power. Except, Cartman has some ulterior motives...

**September 15th, 2017**

 

Dear Diary,

Hanging out with Cartman and the other "Heathers" isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Most of the time, they're just obnoxious teenagers per usual, with their own gripes and quips to say about the social hierarchy. I have noticed a couple of things though. Butters, even though he is a heartthrob, clueless and a strong cheerleader, is still the same old naive kid from when were younger. Most of the time, Cartman yells at Butters for doing something wrong or airheaded, but he still just follows along as if he doesn't have his own brain. Then, there was Stan. Stan, even though dark and moody, isn't as bad as I thought he'd be. I can understand why Kyle and him lost a friendship though. Stan just...is a nihilist at it's finest. Except when it comes to being the best at everything academia or physical. Girls do swoon over him. Sucks for Wendy Testaburger; I wonder what would've happened if had stayed together. And Eric Cartman. Well...what can I say?

He's still a manipulative bastard, with diabolical schemes.

 

_Tweek_

 

I shut my diary as soon as I heard my name being called out, almost in tandem with me signing my entry. I looked around, sort of taken aback, as Stan approached me with lackadaisical presentation. "Yo, Tweek."

 

"W-What's up, Stan?" I stuttered. Why? Maybe something inside me knew that something was up. Or was bound to be bad.

 

"Cartman wants you to meet him in the cafeteria as soon--"

 

"HEY! THAT'S NOT WHAT I TOLD YOU TO SAY, FUCKER."

 

I looked around, confused. Was that...Cartman's voice? Coming from Stan's...pants? Stan rolled his eyes and sighed, "Cartman says haul ass to the caf, pronto. God, sometimes I think this is so stupid, you know that Cartman?"

"I don't fucking CARE, Stan. If we're gonna be iconic, we have to STICK TO THE APPROVED DIALOGUE." The phone spoke out, and Stan quickly hung it up. I just started blankly as Stan shrugged, "Well, you heard him." And with that, he left me.

 

I sighed and stuffed my notebook in my backpack. A couple of people passed by, giggling as they stared and gossiped. Most likely about me. For the past two weeks, the rise of compliments and stares grew exponentially. It was almost like the transformation had worked. People were noticing me in a different light: I had gotten in less altercations with Clyde and Kenny and the rest of the football team, and I had finally felt like I could survive the rest of my senior year without a hitch. I adjusted my blue blazer and began to walk forward.

 

"Hey dude."

 

Kyle? That sounded like Kyle... "Dude...I'm right here."

 

I shook my head. I had completely blanked and I smiled sheepishly as my best friend was standing beside me. He seemed irritated. "You've been hanging out with Cartman and the others a lot lately."

 

I wasn't sure how to respond, "Uh, yeah...y-yeah. Is that not okay?"

Kyle sighed, "I mean...it's not NOT okay. But..."

"But what?" I inquired, grabbing onto my backpack straps. I hadn't forgotten about Kyle or anything; there was no way I'd let that happen. Regardless of popularity and safety, I considered my alliance with the Heathers was a way to gain a safety net for both me and Kyle. While I hung out with them and did as they said, menial tasks really, they'd leave Kyle alone. "I know you-you used to hang out with them a long time ago, but--"

 

"It's whatever, dude," Kyle interrupted. I bit my lip nervously; there was some unspoken tension. Kyle usually wasn't this against something, but I couldn't blame him. He had history with all of them. And I was just happily accepted into their clique. "I just want you to know...that I'm sure that Cartman has something up his sleeve. He never does something nice out of the kindness of his heart. It usually comes at a cost. I'm surprised he hasn't made you do anything absolutely abhorrent yet."

 

I cleared my throat then took a sip of my coffee to calm down a bit. I didn't like confrontations, that had already been established, but something about Kyle's warning stuck with me. My heart started racing and I shook it off, screwing the top back onto my thermos. "It's only temporary...until we can get in a good enough light to just pass by. Who knows. Maybe this will help mend your friendship with--"

"Don't. It's fine. I don't need  _him_. Anyway," Kyle scrolled through his phone for a moment, then positioned himself for a selfie with me. It all happened so quickly that I had no clue exactly why the picture had happened. "Ah, there we go."

"W-wha-what was that for!?" Confusedly, I tried to grab the phone from Kyle, who shoved it into his pocket quickly.

 

"Just a memento. A reminder to say I told you so."

I panicked inwardly. I then rolled my eyes out of disbelief, "Whatever dude...anyway, I got to," ahem, "haul ass to the caf, pronto. I'll catch you later okay? After school, are we still on for bad movie night?"

  
"You know it. This time, I found a couple of cheap B horror movies we can make fun of. One is called: "Testicle: The Smart but Deadly Cuticle". To me, that sounds like a porno, but eh, what the Hell." Kyle responded. We both shared a laugh and gave each other a nod before I headed towards the cafeteria. The walk there, with each step, felt like an eternity. Something was off. Why did I have this itching feeling all over me? Had these clothes that Cartman given me finally kicked in the secret lice or bedbugs? I couldn't stop scratching my arm out of nervousness for what Cartman needed me for. I pushed the double doors open and scanned the area for the stoplight trio. There, in the usual spot, sat Cartman at the table, with Stan and Butters standing at each of his sides like some sort of mafia. Daunting, indeed.

You know when you bleed in open waters, and sharks can smell you from miles away? That's how I felt right now: I was a lone guppy with one fin, surrounded by an ocean of sharks. And they were all hungry. Especially mama.

As I approached, I could see their conversation cease and Cartman had an "innocent' smile on his face. "Tweek~"

 

"What's the emergency, Cartman? Stan made it sound pretty serious." I responded, sitting down gingerly across from my ringleader.

 

"You sure took your goddamn time, for something that seemed like an emergency," Cartman retorted, quite meanly. I flinched. "Anyway, we have a task for you. You've been an honorary member of the Heathers for two weeks now, and it's time for your final challenge." I gulped, waiting for Cartman to show me what he was pulling out of his backpack. He then tossed it to me. It was a folded note. I looked at the note and him, multiple times, before Cartman growled. "Well!? Fucking take a look, dumbass!"

 

I snatched it quickly and opened it. I blinked a couple of times, laughing to myself as I looked at the trio in disbelief. "There's nothing on it?"

 

Cartman looked furious, "No shit, Lightning McQueen! Get a pen. STAN, go be a table so Tweek can write straight."

 

"But...he's literally at a table." Stan protested, and Cartman began to whine, per usual. "GODDAMMIT STAN. JUST DO IT."

 

Stan sighed and walked over to me, bending over. He looked so over it, no pun intended. I put the note out, and pulled a pen out of my backpack. "I need you to match Stan's handwriting. Think you can do that?" Cartman asked, and I nodded, confidently. Then, Cartman began: "Dear, Kyle..."

 

_I miss you buddy. You and I had so many wonderful memories together, and I want to spend my senior year repairing our friendship. I hope you'll forgive me and come talk with me at this killer party held at Clyde Donovan's tonight. I want to be friends again, Kyle Broflovski. And it's a two way street. I hope you'll accept my apology._

 

_Signed,_

_Stan Marsh_

 

I blinked a couple of times, "T-This is an apol-apology note?"

 

"Yes. We've talked about it and well, I figured that I wanted to help be a mediator for Stan," Cartman stood up and leaned his head on his taller friend's shoulder, who looked begrudgingly pissed, "you see...Stan and Kyle Broflovski used to be best of friends. In fact, they used to hang out all the time with me. Way before your time, don't worry," he walked over to me, and did that thing to my shoulders that made me quiver. I didn't like physical contact, let alone from Eric Cartman. "They had a falling out, you may recall, and I want to fix it. Stan is incredibly sorry, and I figure if you're going to be...a true Heather, you can help mend their friendship." The sincerity in his words struck a chord with me. Was...was Cartman being nice?

  
Stan grumbled and I shook my head in disbelief, "Wait...so why didn't you just have Stan write it then...? I'm confused."

 

_"Cartman NEVER does anything out of the kindness of his heart._ _"_

 

"Well, Stan here is being a DOUCHE and won't write the note. In fact,  _you_ need to write it. It'll be more convincing than Stan actually writing it. He ain't the smartest bulb you know?" Cartman explained, and Stan stood up straight, to defend himself.

"I have a 4.0 GPA, cocksander." Stan said bluntly, and Cartman completely ignored him. "Besides, you're closer to Kyle. You have to deliver it."

 

_"NEVER does anything out of the kindness of his heart."_

 

Kyle's words echoed in my head and I started to sweat a little bit, "S-So you want me to give this letter to Kyle?"

 

"Yes, Tweek. Convince him to come to the party tonight. It'll be fun: booze, drugs, girls," he then glanced to Butters, "maybe boys for Butters, who knows? I'm pretty sure he'll put anything in his mouth."

"H-Hey!" Butters cried out in protest, but Cartman continued. His smarmy grin, and his glare like knives, he waited for my response.

  
"What if he doesn't come?" I answered, waiting for Cartman's secondary option. Cartman started laughing, heading back to the head of the table. "Then I'll humiliate both of you in front of the whole student body."

 

I took a moment. What?

  
"Wait-wait what!?"

 

"You heard me," Cartman snapped his fingers, and Stan pulled a photo out of his pocket, "do you want to explain this?" The photo slid over to me and I blushed profusely, trying to grab at it before Cartman beat me to the punch.

 

"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GET THAT!?" I screamed. The whole cafeteria seemed to go quiet; I retreated into my jacket a bit and mumbled to myself as the cafeteria volume returned to normal. "WhatthefuckareyouthinkingCartman!?" I whisper shouted.

 

Cartman smirked, "Do we have a deal?"

 

"Agh! What do you get out of this? Gah, I mean, Kyle goes to the party, Stan and him become friends again!? That's all? This seems a little heavy handed on the punishment for one simple task." I couldn't control my ticks and fidgeting, as I started to freak out. All my senses were starting to overload and I felt as if I was going to burst. Butters crossed his arms and shook his head at me.

 

"Oh no, Eric. It seems he's freaking out!" The genuine concern seeped out, but I couldn't pay attention. Cartman slammed his hands on the table, causing me to shout a bit in fear. I leaned back in my chair, huddled against myself, staring at the massive, red coated boy in front of me.

  
"I'm sick and tired of that Jew being all high and mighty, and Jew-ey, and smart. He needs to be taught a lesson," he slammed his fist again on the table, "and  _you_ need to end your friendship with him. Is that what you want to hear?"

 

I couldn't tell if he was joking, but I relaxed a bit, anger seeping inside me. "No."

 

The look of disbelief on Stan and Butters' faces matched the intensity of Cartman's stifled anger. "What...did you say to me..." He said through clenched teeth.

 

"I-I sa-said no. Cartman, NO!"

 

**SMACK**!

 

The sound echoed throughout the cafeteria, but didn't seem to stop the chatter. Everyone was looking and talking, but now it was focused on the scene at hand. Cartman had somehow managed to get to me and slap me  _hard_ across the face. My face was beet red, my pale skin taking to the damage heavily. Tears started to well up in my eyes. No crying, that's a sign of weakness. I barely met eyes with him as he started shouting at me.

 

"ARE WE GONNA HAVE A PROBLEM!? Oh, Tweek Tweak, you fucking SPAZ. You've come so far why NOW are you pulling on my dick!? I knew you were gay but you should know I don't swing that way. If you want to suck so badly, GO FUCKING FIND A BOYFRIEND FAG. Because guess what!? I'M TIRED of hearing you whimper and spaz out over the tiniest things. If you want to be a Heather, get the balls you fucking bitch. Either you get rid of that Jew or I get rid of both of you. Do we have a deal?!" I couldn't respond. I could only just look on in fear, away from his eyes. Those daggers.

 

"I SAID. DO WE HAVE A DEAL!?"

 

I nodded quickly, "Yes." Why did I agree? I could've ended my high school career right there. That's all I needed to do. But...I hesitated. Everything I had worked for: that way to Easy Street, the finish line, all gone if I had said "no". But...I said yes. What was worse? Ruining my relationship with my best friend possibly, or setting off a bigger flame underneath the surface? My popularity versus my friend. I hated myself for what I was going to have to do. Cartman cleared his throat and walked back to his seat, "Good. You're in my candy store, Tweek. You can't steal from me and expect not to pay later. That's just how it works. Now, give that note to Kyle."

  
I just looked at Stan and Butters, who admittedly, weren't staring back. They were looking down at their feet, almost ashamed at what had just occurred in front of them. Were they just as scared? "What do you wan-want me to s-s-say?"

 

"Just tell him Stan wanted to give that to him, and that he HAS to come to the party tonight so they can talk it out. Once he's there, everything will be fine. You can live on with your pathetic excuse of popularity, as long as I say it fits you. Like that blazer." Cartman explained, and he pointed at me. I felt it nonchalantly and got up, grabbing my backpack quickly. I exited the cafeteria and sighed, cursing to myself momentarily. What had just transpired in there was a clusterfuck of fuckery. To put it lightly. I let out a couple of tears and clutched my backpack straps tightly, "Fuck shit goddammit!" I cursed under my breath.

 

"You know, a simple middle finger sometimes does the trick," a voice spoke up.

 

I jumped at the sudden voice. The hallways weren't as crowded as I thought it'd be during lunch, but it seemed almost silent when that voice cut through. That deep, resonate tone. It almost sounded if he had a bit of a cold, but it still had that brevity that just felt...so  _good_ on the ears. I looked around and noticed  _him_. He was wearing this black hoodie, unzipped and it seemed a tad bit too big for him. His shirt underneath was hard to decipher: was it dark blue? Was it black? I couldn't tell. The jeans that hugged his hips though were definitely dark denim, and his high top converse were blue. A blue chullo hat donned his head, barely covering the scruffy black hair underneath. He seemed to be going through his phone on some Reddit thread, from what I could see from my point of view, but he glanced up at me and I met his gaze. Those eyes. They were so  _blue_.

 

"I-I'm sorry?" Was all I could choke out. I was too enamored by this boy's appearance.

 

He finally sighed and put his phone into his pants pocket, "If you want to let out some aggression, show authority, and show that you don't give a fuck, flip someone off. It makes you feel better." I shook my head. What? What was that supposed to mean? Oh, the swearing.

 

"Oh, sorry about that-that, I just...uh, I had an argument--"

 

"With Cartman and the other Heathers? Or whatever the fuck they call themselves?"

  
It was like he read my mind--oh, wait. The cafeteria doors had been propped open right where he was posted; it was obvious he saw the whole altercation. "You know, those guys are going to eat you alive."

  
"Excuse me? I-I don't-don't know who you are, but I think I can handle myself." I replied, seeming a little too confident for what I actually felt on the inside.

  
"Heh, suit yourself," he pulled out his phone again, "Your so called best friend is going to be destroyed at that party."

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I would never do anything to hurt my best friend." I lied. Sort of.

  
The mysterious teen started walking past me, "Clearly you've got a soul, you've just got to work harder on keeping it clean. We're all born marked for evil." I blinked, confused.

 

"What's with that cryptic quote...? Was that Baudelaire!? Don't just quote Baudelaire at me-me and walk away, I didn't catch your name!" I tried to stop him, which seemed to work. He flipped me off from behind, not even looking at me, as he responded.

 

"I didn't throw it. Catch  _you_ later, Tweek." And with that, he disappeared back into the cafeteria.

 

I took a moment to myself to register everything that had just happened. "What the fuck universe am I in right now!?"

 

~

 

It was the end of the day, and I met Kyle outside at our usual spot. I sighed as he rambled on about something that had happened in his AP Calculus class. Usually, I'd be paying attention, but all that had happened earlier had me in a headspin.  _Hey_. First, Cartman being an absolute dickhead; trying to convince me to ruin my best friend's life.  _HEY_. And then that mysterious chullo wearing boy. God, what was my senior year turning out to be? A circus of confusion!? It was too much pressure you know!  _TWEEK!_

 

"AGH!" I screamed out, realizing I was being called the whole time. Kyle looked at me expectantly. Had I been spacing out the whole time?

 

"Dude, are you okay? You totally spaced out on me." Kyle seemed a little bothered, but I scratched the back of my head and sighed.

 

"A-Ah sorry! I didn't mean-mean to." God, why was I stuttering so much? All I had to do was give him a note.

 

"So, should we head over to my place or yours? I can stream all the movies from my laptop so, that shouldn't be a problem."

  
"Actually," I interrupted, "I was thinking maybe...we could go to this party tonight instead?" Instantly, I could tell that Kyle was against it. Kyle began to protest and I held the note out to him. He blinked and looked at me, "What is this?"

  
_Here goes nothing._ "Stan wanted you to have it.

 

"Stan? Stan Marsh?" Kyle took the note, and hesitantly opened it. I was afraid he'd see through my forgery. That he'd know that I had forged it completely for Cartman's bidding. To protect us. Both of us. I bit my lip nervously as he scanned through every sentence, taking in every word. He finally closed it and sighed. "Tweek, I can't do this."

 

"W-What why not!? It's a chance at redemption! Or or or or, Uh, uh, maybe a way for you to really get an explanation for what happened between you two! Isn't that what you've always wanted!?" I tried to talk my way out of it, convincing him to go, but I was pretty sure my stutter was a hindrance in this case.

 

"Tweek, if I go to this party, there's no turning back," well that was cryptic. I cocked my head. "What does that mean?" I asked.

"If I go, I  _have_ to tell Stan everything. It's the only way we can be friends again." I acknowledged his statement with a slight "oh" under my breath, and rubbed my hands together nervously. "I-I guess we don't have to go," I lied. We  **had** to. Cartman had dirt on me, and most likely on Kyle. He hadn't shown me anything on Kyle, but I knew something was up.

  
"No, you know what? I'll go." Kyle stood up, determinedly. I stood up shortly after, "R-Really!?"

Kyle smiled at me, putting both hands on my shoulders, "Yes. I need to stop being afraid. I don't want to spend my last year of school, and probably in South Park, dwelling on the past. I want to fix what went wrong with me and Stan."

 

I smiled back, hesitantly, "I guess I'll meet you there then?"

 

"Absolutely." He picked up his backpack and we started walking towards the direction of the bike racks near the back of the school. As Kyle walked a bit ahead of me, he looked over his shoulder and grinned, "You're a good friend, Tweek. Really you are."

 

I gulped. Oh, man. What was I doing?


	3. Freeze Your Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes coffee doesn't do the trick.

It was a busy day at the coffee shop.

Every day after school, I usually had a short shift to cover my parents for a bit so they could go to the bank, eat, or get stock for the weekend; it was worth something, at least. Money was money as far as I was concerned. There was a line, but it was manageable. Order after order, I seemed to be on autopilot. I couldn't quite concentrate on being myself, as I felt so empty on the inside. I had set up my best friend to basically be humiliated at a party. What else was I supposed to think about? There had to be some way to stop Cartman and his goons from completely devastating Kyle.

"Alright, u-uh, one caramel frape with a double shot of espresso? For Michelle?" I called out, putting down the cold drink on the counter. I never understood cold drinks; especially for coffee. It was always  _way_ too cold to handle, plus it gave me brain freezes. 'Michelle' came up, giving me a quick thank you before taking her drink. I went back to the preparation area and cleaned off my station, as the line died down. I breathed for a second, taking out my phone. I had two missed texts from Kyle.

 

_Broflovski_ _:_ _Hey! What time should I arrive at Clyde's? And should I bring anything like...in particular?_

_Broflovski: Oh, also. If you decide to get shitfaced, I ain't bailing you out man._

 

I laughed a bit at Kyle's joke and quickly messaged him back:

 

_"Don't worry. I think you just need to bring yourself...you know you don't have to go right?"_

 

I sent the text, biting my bottom lip nervously. Maybe he'd back out? And maybe this whole thing could be called off.  _Maybe_ Cartman would believe he chickened out. He couldn't blame him for that, could he? I felt my phone vibrate again and I sighed:

 

_Broflovski: No, I need to go, dude. Stan and I have to figure shit out. I miss him. More than I've told you. I'll see you tonight._

 

I sighed and replied with a simple, "ok", before putting my phone back in my pocket. I then realized there was a new customer. In the corner, scrolling through his phone again, was that boy. The one with the black hoodie and mysterious look in his eyes. Those blue eyes. I wiped my hands nervously on my apron and walked over, not once looking away from him. Why was I so nervous? Why did it seem like I was shaking? I cleared my throat and he glanced up to me with a chuckle, and then went back to his phone.

 

"Sorry, di-didn't mean to be on my phone. Did you want to order something?" I asked. My mouth felt numb. Did I even say words? God was he alluring.

 

Mr. No-Name-Kid finally put down his phone and sighed, "I'm not really a coffee person, myself. Did you want to take a seat for a second? Seems like you were busy for a moment there." He offered. I looked around to make sure no one needed anything, and then nodded, sitting down across from him. Getting a closer look at him, he really did have some defining features without being too...extraordinary. He just felt... _different_. His skin was paler than most, but that was South Park to blame; his eyes stuck out and his black hair seemed to just match everything so nicely. He seemed to sport an undercut of some sort, part of head shaved. And he had a barely noticeable nose piercing that seemed to tie the badass look together. His hands were rough, but they seemed to have a certain meticulous nature to them that intrigued me. On his right thumb, was a pewter ring that seemed plain and for decoration. He must've noticed me looking at him so intently, because it wasn't long before I heard him call out to make sure I wasn't sleeping or something.

"Dude, are you okay? I'm not just a piece of meat, you know?"

I blushed furiously and jumped a bit in my seat, "Agh! I mean, I-I-I u h hhhhh, know that! Y-Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something I'm so sorry."

He laughed. Was something funny? Nothing seemed funny, but maybe I missed a joke.

"Don't worry, I'm fucking with you," he smiled lightly. His smile was so charming, but...alarming. My heart pulled and I suppressed a grunt. That was an unusual response. I put my hands on the table, and sighed.

 

"Sooo, what is your name, anyway? I know you gave me a very cool, avant garde introduction, but I don't want to just refer to you as "that boy" forever." I asked, waiting for his answer impatiently.

 

"Craig." He answered simply, leaning back in his seat. Craig. That was his name: Craig. It rang in my mind a couple of times before I smiled.

 

"Craig. Well, Craig, I'm Tweek--" "I know. Tweek Tweak, which honestly is a very interesting and dumb name at the same time. But eh, what can I say? I didn't name you." He interrupted. How did he know my name already? Did I give it to him already? I was so confused; how did he know anything about me, let alone my name? Ugh, life was hard. My anxiety was starting to build up as I continued questioning him.

 

"So you're not much of a coffee person...?"

  
"I like cold things," Craig responded blankly, and I scoffed.

"Well," I pursued, "what about cold coffee drinks then? I mean, frappuccinos are basically slushies. Especially how I make em. They give me way too bad of a brain freeze, so I try to avoid them."

 

Craig laughed again, rolling his eyes, "But that's the  _best_ part."

 

"W-What...? The brain freeze?" I asked, confused.

 

He nodded and cracked his knuckles, causing me to twitch involuntarily. "Brain freezes are the best part of any frozen treat. They help you forget. Pain, problems, anxiety," he paused after that, "I mean, who needs cocaine when you've got copious amounts of sugar and ice to destroy your brain cells?" He had a point, but I couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable from his haunting description.

  
"You like to forget a lot...?" I asked.

 

"Sometimes you gotta," he shrugged, "I've been through ten different high schools in the past few years. My family likes to move around a lot, due to work and other business. Fucking ridiculous if you ask me. Hence, why I don't feel it's necessary to give out names and all that bullshit. Gonna leave them sooner or later anyway. But, through all the frustration and all the pain, I know that I can always trust places that serve slushies or ICEEs. It's my own best friend in a private, fucked up world." Craig continued. He sounded so cool; the look about him also suited the way he talked, it was so...for lack of better words,  _mysterious_. That's all that came to mind when I thought about Craig.

 

I stood up, seeing my family come in, "One second...I just have to make sure I can get going." I walked over to my parents. I could've sworn Craig had flipped me off. How rude. I nervously walked up to my mom and dad, who seemed to be laughing a bit. I blinked, "Hey, what's going on?"  
  


"Oh, hello, honey! We just happened to run into your friends and they wanted to come stop by and say hi. They seem so full of life and fun." My friends? What was my mom talk--oh no.

 

Right there, in the doorway, stood Cartman, Stan, and Butters. The Heathers. They entered and looked me over before taking a glance around the shop a couple of times. "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Tweak, you guys have a lovely shop here. Seems so full of life, and oh, do I smell, a very special Brazilian brew?" Cartman acted so high and mighty and intelligent, I knew he was bullshitting. My parents bought it though, and my dad spoke up, arms crossed.

 

"Well, well, Eric, you seem to know your coffee! I'll go ahead and make you a cup of our finest Brazilian brew. Be right back! Tweek, could you show your friends to a table?"

 

I shook my head slightly but before I could say anything, Stan spoke up. "Actually, we can't stay long. We just came to get Tweek so we could prepare for our huge study session tonight. Right, Tweek?" Stan looked at me, and it felt like all eyes were on me. Even other patrons. Even Craig. Who I glanced over to and he did nothing but laugh into his hands a bit from the situation. Asshole. I looked back to the Heathers and smiled nervously, "R-Right. I should really get going."

 

Ms. Tweak nodded, "Understood. What time will you be home tonight?"

  
"Uh, we're looking to pull an all-nighter, so I'll probably crash over at the Marsh's tonight." I lied. The trio seemed impressed and just went along with it. Mr. Tweak came back with Brazilian brew and handed it to Cartman. "Here you go! One Brazilian brew from one coffee aficionado to another." Cartman smiled so sweetly, oh so  _sweetly_ as he took the cup and took a sip. Straight black coffee? I'm surprised that he didn't straight up toss the coffee on my family. "Oh, why thank you, Mr. Tweak! C'mon, Tweek. We should get going. Stat." There was a hint of malice behind his voice and I nodded fervently, untying my apron, handing it to my parents.

 

"I-I gotta go say goodbye to a friend really quick." I said, turning to go towards Craig. He was still sitting there, a look of disbelief on his face. "What?" I whispered, looking at his disgusted face.

 

"I can't believe you actually hang out with those pretentious cunts. Literally, they are the scum of the earth and you know that, right?" Craig muttered and I rolled my eyes. "Of course I know that, but..." My voice trailed off. Why did I want this? I had gotten into the clique, sure. But life...really felt no different. Sure, guys and girls seemed to hit on me the most out of the trio, besides Stan of course who was always a whore, but other than that, I still felt...wrong about the whole situation. Was popularity really worth what I was going to be getting into tonight? Craig sure put that in perspective.

  
"The fact you can't answer me is answer enough," he stood up and handed me my phone. Wait. When did he get that? I felt all over my body quickly before snatching it out of his hands, "H-How did you get that!?"

 

"Pay attention more or else you could get jacked," he flipped me off. Oh how badly I wanted to bite that finger off. WHAT WAS I THINKING!? My heart started racing again and I realized he had put his number in my phone. "Craig Tucker." I muttered and he patted my shoulder as he walked towards the front door, "See you around, Tweekers."

 

I wanted to say something but I watched as Craig took a second to look over Cartman and the others, who in response acted like rival cats in an alley. I was pretty sure I heard Cartman hiss at Craig, as he flipped them off, leaving the coffee shop. Cartman growled, "TWEEK! LET'S GO!" He shouted and the other patrons in the coffee shop seemed to just be silenced from his shrill shriek. My parents just awed and watched as I reluctantly followed the three out of the shop. I could hear them as I left let out a soft, "Awww, they seem so nice. I'm glad he has friends now."

 

I had friends before, but apparently, unpopular friends didn't count.

 

~

 

Cartman and the others had brought me over to the Stotch's to start getting ready. Butters was always really sheltered, there was no lie to that. In fact, all through middle school and even elementary school, the boy was grounded more often than not just because of doing something innocent...or getting involved with Cartman's shenanigans. I never understood why Butters and Cartman were even acquaintances, but I realized soon enough that maybe it was out of necessity now. Being so sheltered had to get boring, and now, being a part of the Heathers might have been the only way for Butters to be completely alive. Luckily, his parents weren't home. The two were extremely religious and didn't take too kindly to me. They tolerated me, because the town did as well, but that didn't mean they wanted me around Butters for a prolonged period of time. Although, their son being gay should've been the least of their worries.

  
"Tonight's the night, Tweek," Cartman rubbed my shoulders as if I was about to go into the ring. I honestly felt like there was about to be a fight of the century. I looked at myself in Butters' closet mirror and Cartman stood behind me. He was shorter than me of course, but he had thinned out. A tiny bit. Not a lot, at  _all_. But, he was still taller. In his red blazer, decorated as if it were straight from the movie, Cartman really took hold of the character. I don't know where he found these jackets, but, it must've cost a pretty penny. His mother got him whatever he wanted, so it never mattered anyway. "You're going to fuck all this shit up. In the best way possible. Once we get to the party, things will be okay. You're doing a great thing here, Tweek. Look at Stan, he's so happy he'll get to reconcile with his best buddy." He forcefully turned my face towards Stan, who was sitting on Butters' bed, texting away. 

  
"Oh, he looks so excited." I said, deadpan. Cartman growled and threw a brush at Stan, hitting him square in the nose. Full force. Stan fell back, gripping his nose instantaneously. He sat up quickly, then to a full force standing position.

 

"What the FUCK was that for!?"

 

"Oops, sorry. Hand slipped. Tweek's hair is so thick. With two Cs." I threw up in my mouth a little bit at Cartman's lie. It made me cringe so hard I couldn't even believe how I wasn't twitching out of nervousness. I sighed.

"Promise me you won't hurt him." I let out, glancing to Cartman. His eyes seemed honest and genuine, but I knew not to trust him. I had learned that over time, and I just looked back at myself in the mirror as he spoke.

 

"Look at yourself, Tweek. We've transformed you. We've moved you from zero to hero, in ten seconds flat. Kyle Broflovski is a figment of your past now. You need to let it go...in fact... _whooo is that girl I seeee? Staring straight...back atmmeee--_ " 

 

"Stop. Please." I cut Cartman off, who had broken into a disgusting rendition of Reflection from Mulan. Butters laughed, "That was pretty good, Eric. You're getting better and better every day!"

 

"Of course I fucking am, you fucking idiot. Goddamn, I know you're sheltered and all but I would at least think you'd know when to SHUT the fuck up!" Cartman went off on a tangent and Butters just frowned, looking sheepish per usual as Stan rolled his eyes, rubbing his bruised nose. I sighed again, worry settling in my stomach. This party wasn't going to be fun. I knew it. And there was definitely something up Cartman's sleeves. He always had a bitter hatred towards Kyle. I knew that, so did everyone else in South Park. But, maybe...there was a part of me that thought MAYBE, he would have changed.

 

~

 

**September 15th, 2017**

Dear Diary,

 

A continuation. I don't know what I'm doing here. The party is loud. It's annoying. But, on the bright side, there are so many cute guys and girls here that seem to be into me. The more and more they drink, the more they compliment me. Maybe I should be taking all of this with a grain of salt. Who knows? But, Kyle still hasn't shown up. I'm hoping he doesn't. I can take the brunt of Cartman's anger. Though...he does have that photo. How did he even get it? He had to have bribed someone to reveal something embarrassing about me. And unfortunately, that's definitely embarrassing. I just want things to go back to normal. But is it too late to leave? The Heathers, the boys...they have turned a new leaf inside of me. And then there's Craig. Craig Tucker. What an enigma. The more and more I think about him, the curiosity grows inside me and I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to actually pick his brain.

 

I should really go. Maybe the night will turn out better than I think. Let's just cross our fingers and hope.

 

_Tweek_

I closed my diary as I looked around the party. There was a really obnoxious hip hop song playing. I think it was "Smack That" by Akon. It had to be. I knew that beat. I couldn't help but bob my head and tap my foot as the song continued, taking a sip from the cup Stan had given me at the beginning of the party. It was some strong, but delicious, alcoholic mixture. I had to have had three cups by this point. And ooh boy was I feeling it. I stood up and walked around, running right into Clyde and Kenny, who seemed to be hanging off each other in this weird bromantic way.

 

"Oooooh, Tweeeeeek." Kenny cooed, causing me to blush uncomfortably. 

 

"Just the bitch we were looking for," Clyde slurred, spilling some of his drink on himself. Kenny had an arm around his shoulders, glancing at me like a piece of meat. I knew that Kenny McCormick was different like me, but I couldn't tell if he was into both or just anything that had a hole. The kid wanted to put his dick in whatever he could find.

 

"E-Excuse me?" I slurred, laughing a bit.

 

"My buddy Clyde here has been wanting to experiment. But he figured that it'd be less weird if we had an actual gay with us...you in?" Kenny whispered, and I blushed. Being pinned between Kenny McCormick and Clyde Donovan seemed like a fantasy to maybe some girls and select guys, seeing as how both were well built and good looking, but that was not my gig. I shook my head.

  
"I uh, gotta like...go get some...bathroom, pee. I gotta go." I ran off before they could question me. I could hear Clyde smack Kenny and start arguing. Something about "told you it wouldn't work" or "I'm not into guys anyway, McCor-DICK". I had to find an exit quick. As I headed for the front door, it opened and I gulped. It was too late. There was no leaving now.

 

Kyle looked comfortable, but also really unsure at the same time. He entered in and I met him quickly, "Oh hey!"

  
"Hey, dude. Do you answer your phone?" Kyle said, seeming a little irritated.

  
I scrambled to find my phone, to see that it had a couple of texts missed on it, and I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly, "Uh sorry...it's been crazy," I sighed, "you actually came." I seemed sad, and I think Kyle noticed that. He blinked a couple of times before shrugging, "Of course I did. I said I would. I need this, Tweek. Anyway, where's the drinks? I might as well get something to drink before talking with Stan." I pointed towards the kitchen and watched as Kyle left in that direction. I wanted to stop him. To throw him out the door and slam it shut. I didn't want him to suffer through anything Cartman had planned.

 

But it was too late. I was officially the worst friend ever, yet, I had no clue what was about to happen. All I could do was hope and pray.

 

I didn't even believe in God, but if there was one thing I needed now: it was a God.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry for the shorter chapter this time around. I promise next one is gonna be longer, and it's going to be quite racy. As, lots of things are going to happen, I plan to continue this story and also start my actual South Park universe fluff story. Sad story. Oooh boy will it be sad. I hope you guys like my Heathers AU, and I appreciate the comments so far. :) Enjoy!


	4. Dead Boy Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Contains some sexual content, and strong language.

I had drank a lot of alcohol. Like an absurd amount. I don't even remember getting that much, but here I was: basically giggling at every word Butters was talking about.

The music was still very loud, but it seemed to enhance everything that was going on in my body at the moment.

"And so, uh, I totally like said to him, 'It's okay to be a male cheerleader! Cause I get to hang out with all the girls and be close with them an' stuff.' and he totally was like," Butters continued, putting on a more gruff (at least trying to) voice, "Dude that's still hella gay and you are too.' Can you believe that, Tweek!? I-I'm not gay or anything, I promise. You believe me right? Tweek? Tweek...?"

 

I was laughing hysterically. I don't know why, but the story just seemed  _so_ funny. "Hahahaha, oh my gawsh, Butterss...that's hilarious. I didn't know you played water polo. That's gay my dude." I slurred. Half the shit I was saying didn't even make sense, but Butters played along.

"N-Now wait a minute! Water polo is not gay, and neither is cheerleading. I didn't say anything about the first one b-but, whatever. Anyway, Tweek, why don't you join any extra curricular activities?" Butters huffed, taking a sip of whatever he had in his cup. I blinked for a moment, trying to refocus my vision.

  
"W-Well, I-I uh, don't really  _do_ sports or like...physical activities much, to-to be honest-HIC-I just like--music and such." I stammered through, trying to remain "sober".

Butters seemed to like that answer, and before he could say anything, a certain blonde haired jock grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, "Heh, Butterscotch~ What are you doing over here talking to this hottie?"

 

I almost choked on my drink, "E-Excuse me!?" I asked, looking around. There was no one else here. Was he talking about  _me_? Butters blushed scarlet and finagled his way out of Kenny's grip.

"K-Kenny, stop! You're being super weird again. How much have you had to drink?" Butters demanded, and Kenny shrugged, crumpling his Red Solo cup and tossing it into the next room. He let out a cheer.

 

"Does it matter!? I'm super pumped right now, and I'm looking for some hot blondes to smash, if you know what I'm saying~" Kenny McCormick was an open...sexual? No one really know which team he played for, but his popularity and charisma and his unwavering ability to really take any hit made it unimportant to most. But for me, I had no fucking clue what to do with this information that was being laid on me and Butters. The two of us locked eyes and got a clear understanding of what Kenny was saying: he wanted to fuck one of us, and I knew it wasn't me. I nodded halfheartedly and smiled at the two before walking backwards into the mass of the party.

  
All I could hear was Butters yelling my name and Kenny saying, "C'mon Butterscotch, beer pong awaits! WOO-HOO!" I felt bad, but I needed to get out of there.

  
Why was I even at this party again? Oh yeah. Kyle. Where was Kyle? I scanned the room, full of high school students grinding and basically dryhumping on the dance floor, and could not spot my ginger-headed friend. I finished off my drink; ooh, that last sip was a doozy. I barely held up my alcohol as I continued my search for Kyle. I checked upstairs, downstairs, in a bathroom which unfortunately contained some people getting down on some alone time, and then I checked in the backyard. Nothing. Clyde's house was nothing to write home about, but it was massive. Or at least it seemed that way. I adjusted my blue blazer, feeling less euphoric and more nauseous as the night went on. If I didn't find Kyle soon, I was gonna be checked into the toilet all night. 

 

That's when I heard it. The sound that shook my brain more than anything.

  
"Alright, everyone! Gather around! It's time to play a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven!!"

 

Cartman's voice stung like a bee, but swelled in my mind like a cobra bite; I stumbled over to where the amplified voice was coming from and watched as the music died down a bit and people started to gather around the Heathers, standing tall and proud in front of the masses. It was like a mini pep rally in Clyde's living room, and I rolled my eyes. Seven Minutes in Heaven? What were we, five? This was so pathetic, but something didn't sit right in my stomach. It wasn't just the booze either. I kinda pushed my way to the front and my eyes widened as I witnessed Kyle for the first time.

 

He was in the front row of people, seemingly bored from what I could see. This whole party was supposed to be his redemption; had he talked to Stan yet? I wasn't sure, and I needed to find out. Our friendship depended on it. 

  
Cartman cleared his throat, "Who will be our first victim? Hmmm lemme see, lemme see...you! Kyle  _Broflovski_." The room went uncomfortably silent for me. My ears started ringing, and I began to realize exactly what was going on. I pushed myself to the front, trying to get in a position where I could volunteer as tribute, but it was too late. Kyle trudged his way up to Cartman's stage and people started chanting and cheering, "Kyle! Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!" Butters was up there too, with Stan, and they all just stood there patiently, like little robots in Cartman's army. I grimaced and watched as Kyle was blindfolded and shoved into the closet in closest view. "Now, for our second entrant...hmmm. Oh I know! Butters, get the victim." He whispered the last part to the side, and Butters nodded, grabbing something from the kitchen. I waited in anticipation, seeing what was gonna happen. I couldn't stomach it anymore.

 

"What are you doing?" Cartman muttered to me, as I stormed up to the stage. I was enraged.

 

"Whatever you got planned for him, I need you to stop. This is low, Cartman. Even for you." I tried to make it sound convincing, but it only came out slightly slurred and unsure. What was Cartman planning? I had no idea, but I didn't like it. Butters came back in, a... _severed_ pig head? He had gloves on and looked disgusted, but the audience decided it would be funny. What was this fucked up town? They all laughed and Cartman joined in, causing me to push him. I  _pushed_ Eric Cartman. He stumbled back a bit, running into Butters, who dropped the pig head on the floor. From the audience, Clyde snarled.

 

"Hey! You pick that shit up! That's gonna stain my parents' carpet." And I growled back, "Enough! All of you. I'm not gonna let you hurt my friend."

 

But it was too late, Kyle stepped out of the closet and I looked to him. "Kyle, go. Now."

 

"What the fuck is going on dude?" Kyle asked, really confused about the whole situation. I just gave him a knowing look, glancing downwards right after, "Just go man. Please."

 

Kyle slowly started exiting, not really leaving eye contact of the whole situation, then got out. Right as my sigh of relief came though, I ended up feeling myself get turned around, and shoved against a wall forcefully. It hurt, really bad. And made my stomach turn even worse. "D-Don't spin me, I don't feel well."

 

"I BROUGHT YOU UP FROM NOTHING YOU PATHETIC FUCKING IDIOT! AND WHAT DO I GET!? A PIG IN MY BACK AND MY ONE CHANCE TO HUMILIATE KYLE RUINED!?" Cartman screamed, and everyone immediately shut up. He had the room floored, but this was a part of his plan. "You think you're so high and mighty, I  **created** you. You piece of fucking SHIT. I CREATED YOU!" He shook me. That was a bad idea.

 

"Really, stop. Please." I begged, through forced up gagging.

 

Cartman continued, aiming a slap at my face, which stung really hard. That was it.

 

**HEUGH!!**

 

I threw up. All over the front of Eric Cartman's nice, red blazer jacket. His face turned red, and he gritted his teeth so hard I thought they would shatter. And he screamed the loudest he could. A high pitched, pubescent scream, and I wiped my mouth clean of the vomit. "You know what Cartman? Fuck you."

  
"DID YOU JUST THROW UP ON ME!? WHAT THE FLYING FUCK, YOU METH HEAD. I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!" He threatened, his fingers tightening into fists. I smirked, this was what it felt like to get sweet revenge. I had found my second wind.

 

"Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up." That was all I said. And Cartman smiled. That gave me chills. Why was he smiling?

 

Cartman turned to the audience that was watching this spectacle like a soap opera on TV, and spoke generally. "Come Monday morning, you will be nothing. You will have nothing. And you will stand for  _nothing_. Not your faggy little music, not your coffee, not your best friend Kyle, NOTHING. No one will sit with you, talk with you, or even associate that you are a HUMAN BEING. YOU GOT THAT!?" He yelled the last part at me, and I realized then that I hadn't won anything. I had puked on someone who I considered my friend and ally, now turned my worst enemy. I glanced at the whole room: everyone's eyes were on me and then down to the ground. Cartman had  _that_ much power. I sighed and quickly rushed out of the house. From the outside, in the cold winter, I could hear Cartman scream.

 

"Now where's the fucking keg and music! Let's keep going, motherfuckers!" The house cheered and the music started as if it never even turned off.

 

I shed tears. Lots of them, as I walked away from the house, just wandering through the neighborhood.

 

~

 

_What am I? What have I become? I'm a monster. I think I'm doing the right thing then BAM! Wrong again, Tweek. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm dead. I'm gonna die. Like I'm literally gonna die._

 

These thoughts raced through my mind as I braved the cold. I didn't even know where I was now, but I didn't care. I couldn't bare to just sit in my room and wait for my demise come Monday morning. That would be a mistake. And pointless.

 

_Cartman is gonna fuck me up. He's going to ruin my friendship with Kyle. He's going to tell everyone what I did. I'm gonna be the laughing stock. But I technically already am. Or was. Or am again? God, concentrate, concentrate, breathe breahte bteabhterbh_

 

My thoughts became jumbled as I started having a panic attack. My breathing staggered and even my vision was starting to get hazy. The alcohol wasn't helping either. I felt my body warm and go cold almost instantaneously, and I buckled down to the side where the was a bank of snow and threw up again. This time, at least, it was just a little bit. I felt a little bit better, but I couldn't help but sob a bit more.

 

_Tweek Tweak you're an idiot. Why would you risk everything just for popularity? High school sucks, it blows._

 

I looked around to try and gather my surroundings. I had approximately, a day and a half to figure out what the fuck to do before Monday destroyed my entire high school career. Then I caught something... _peculiar._

 

In the second story window of a nearby house, I could spot Craig. Craig Tucker. He had just walked into view, as he put on another t-shirt. His body looked  _good_ from down here. I licked my lips unknowingly, and searched my pockets for anything to hide the fact that I had upchucked copious amounts of alcohol. Luckily, I still had a pack of gum in my pocket. I took a piece and chewed it, staring at Craig through his window. I felt creepy, but I couldn't look away. Something in me stirred, and I found myself...aroused.

 

_C'mon, snap out of it. You can't even think that a guy like that would be into you. I mean look at him! He's a fucknig God...a God...God...._

 

I blinked momentarily and realized that my prayers had been answered. I smirked. I wanted God, I got him. I stormed through the snow, stumbling a couple of times. I don't know what I was thinking, but I had to do it. I needed to talk to Craig. I noticed that there was a lattice right by his window, and I climbed it haphazardly, almost falling a couple of times. I finally reached his window and pushed it open, giving Craig a scare. He fell onto his bed, sitting up a bit and he looked at me confusedly.

 

"T-Tweek?! What are you doing in my room?" He muttered as I stumbled onto his floor. I laughed a little bit, and walked up to him, putting a finger up to his lips. Those soft lips. "Shhhhh. Don't talk, it's okay."

 

Craig calmed down immediately and cocked his head to the side a bit, still confused. "Was the party fun?"

 

"Big fun...In fact, so much fun that I ended up destroying my relationship with Cartman. That much fun." I said, sitting next to him on the bed. Craig sighed.

 

"Wow, how'd you do that? That clique seemed pretty tight with you. I mean, don't get me wrong, I fucking hate Cartman. And all of his  _Heathers_." Craig explained. The heat emanating off of him gave me goosebumps as I gulped to continue talking.

 

"Well, I stopped him from humiliating my best friend and then threw up all over him in front of the whole party. And then he threatened to end my life come Monday morning, so," I gestured to the room and to Craig, "here I am!"

 

Craig laughed and stood up, shutting the window. He leaned his back against and looked me up and down. It was like a hungry dog looking down a piece of meat. And oh how badly did I want to be bitten. I blushed and unbuttoned my blazer a bit. "It's hot in here, no? God, I'm so hot." I muttered, almost incoherently, as I let the cool air in the room hit my underlayer of clothing. It was true, I was hot. But not because of the temperature. I was sweating and I could feel my palms aching.

 

"You're different though. You're not a Heather. You're Tweek. And I like that," Craig approached me and I blinked as he stopped right in front of me, "you're someone I don't want to forget."

 

I bit my bottom lip nervously and stood up, grabbing his t-shirt. I tossed him onto the bed and straddled his waist. I could feel how aroused he was, and I know he could feel me, and we both made eye contact with a weary, dusty blush on our cheeks. "Craig, I need to ask you a favor."

 

Craig gulped, nervous for the first time it seemed, "What would that be...?"

 

"I need you to...let me ride you, until I break you."

 

There was silence, before Craig finally answered, "That works for me."

 

And with that, our lips met in a messy but passionate kiss. I tugged at his bottom lip with my teeth and ground my crotch into his; the tension between us was palpable and I let out a moan as he bucked into me as well. I leaned back up for air, tossing my jacket to the side as Craig removed my shirt. He met me in a sitting up position, catching my lips again, as he dugs his nails along my back. I arched into him and let out a groan as he captured my neck with his mouth. Laying fairy light kisses everywhere on my torso as I fiddled to get his shirt off. I needed to see that body up, close, and personal.

 

I finally got the offending garment off his body and tossed it to God knows were, and I found myself on my back, pants sliding off my body. Everything was a blur, but it was a good blur. I was exposed, but I felt safe. This was the right choice. I could feel it. The one right choice of the night. Craig bit into my neck and I let out a slight scream, arching my naked body into his as he found his sweatpants off and on the ground. From there on out, blankets covered us as we switched positions again. I lowered myself, without any type of help, onto him and the boy moaned from underneath me as I slowly started moving my hips against him. The sensations were powerful and my hands traced his stomach and then down to the sheets beneath him. I pulled and pulled as I picked up the pace; Craig joined in on the ministrations, gripping my wrists and then moving his hands to my stomach, and then my aching arousal which he continuously messed with.

 

"C-Craig...C-Craig...I'm gonna--" I let out and Craig nodded, finishing my sentence for me. "I know. I know. Me too...god, what is happening right now?"

 

I released on to his stomach, and I could feel him finishing deep inside of me. The climax we reached was beautiful, and I collapsed on his chest, breathing matching perfect time with his. I couldn't believe it: this guy that I only knew for a couple days now...he was my first. In fact, the idea alone that I could lose my virginity was baffling. I was nothing to look at, and I was definitely no Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, or any of the hot, wanted guys at the school. But Craig Tucker wanted me. I blinked, staring out the window I had come through, while listening to Craig's racing heartbeat.

 

"That was...interesting." 

 

I looked up at him and sighed, "Did you hate it?"

 

"No," Craig blankly said, "not at all. I fucking loved it. What got into you all of the sudden?"

 

"I-I don't know...I just...I can't waste my life away trying to be popular and shit. I have to be me and do what I want to do. And well, you're who I wanted to do." I jokingly stated and Craig pulled me closer to his chest. This felt right. My heart was racing, not from the sex we had, but more so from the emotions I was feeling after. There was something about Craig Tucker that just, wrecked me. And I had no idea what it was. I hummed lightly and Craig shifted, letting me lay more on his side than on top of him. We covered each other up with blankets and I looked into his blue eyes.

 

"God, you're pretty." I stated simply, which earned a laugh from Craig. That was really the first time I heard him actually laugh.

  
Craig looked up at his ceiling, "And so are you. This is so gay."

 

"Yeah, I know." I laughed. We chuckled for a little bit more and I remembered that the party indeed still happened. It was  _still_ going to loom over him on Monday morning. Craig had to be a mind reader, because he brushed my hair out of my face and kissed my forehead, calming me down.

  
"Don't worry about Monday. Right now, let's just stay in this moment, yeah? No one's going to hurt you while I'm around, got it?" Craig reassured, and I blushed. I leaned up and grabbed one more kiss from his lips and pushed my forehead against his.

 

"Thanks, I needed that...I'm glad you're willing to fight for me. I'm not one for confrontation." I whispered and Craig shrugged.

  
"It's what I do for people I care about. Although," he stopped, looking around and feeling underneath the covers a bit. He laughed, "I think we tore my mattress. Next time, let's try and not break the bed?"

 

I couldn't help but roll my eyes and playfully slap his chest. Craig Tucker was a goof, and I loved that. Everything seemed to fit into place.

 

And that was beautiful.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter! A bit of a prologue, if you must put a label on it. I'm very excited to see where this story goes, and I hope you guys like it as well. Feedback and comments are always appreciated. And I may need a beta, but we shall see how my schedule sits for me.


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